Memories
by Cinnamon3
Summary: One-shot ficlet exploring Harry and Remus' relationship and the nature of the Veil. No slash.


Utterly Useless and Legally Ineffective Disclaimer:  All characters and settings belong to J. K. Rowling.  I'm just playing with them; I'll return them later, really.

This is a one-shot ficlet involving Harry, Lupin, and Sirius.  This story stands on its own and is a complete work.  Reviews are much appreciated, but I will not consider "Updateupdateupdate" much of a review.  If you wish to see some of my HP fanart, it is on my website at .

Enjoy!

- Corrie

**Memories**

They'd tried to keep him from this place, but he'd gotten here in the end.  Standing now before the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, Harry remembered…

~

"Sirius!  No, no!  You've got to let me go!  He's there, right behind the curtain..."

"He's gone, Harry."

It was Remus' voice, the final flatness of it, that had gotten through to him.  The man who became his mentor and closest confidant had put aside his own grief and shock in order to pull him back.  Ron was his best friend, yes, but Remus was the one he learned to trust.  They both grieved, but with the grieving came a new vulnerability, and upon returning to Grimmauld Place the floodgates had broken loose.  The intangible strength that Harry had grown to respect in the man had been tested for a long while after they lost Sirius, and he'd finally found solace in his best friend's son.

Harry had surprised him one night, entering a remote room where Remus sat before a cold hearth, staring at the charred logs without seeing them.  He gently thrust tea into the werewolf's knotted hands and took the other chair, joining him in the silence.  Slowly Remus' eyes lost their glazed appearance and shifted to him with some of their old sharpness.  That look could still stop him in his tracks even now after all the times he'd been speared with it, and Harry had felt very transparent under it.  _He would have made a good headmaster, if not for his lycanthropy_, he reflected, damning wizarding prejudice to perdition and back.  He was almost as formidable as Dumbledore and in that moment Harry was squirming inside like a child.  But only inside, outwardly he returned Remus' look steadily, and asked the question he'd come to.

"Will you tell me about my father?"  For a moment, he'd thought Remus would refuse, tired and sad after another full moon spent alone without companions, the good memories overshadowing the bad.  Snape was still making the wolfsbane potion under Dumbledore's orders, but Harry got the impression that it hadn't been as effective this last time.  Pomfrey had paid a visit early the next morning and had come out of the cellar hiding worry under a thin professional mask.  Talking about his father would probably bring up Sirius, it was unavoidable.  From what McGonagall had said, any story involving James would also include Sirius.  Remus saw through it of course, but out of a sense of duty or something else he gradually began to talk, gripping the teacup without drinking.  

~

"Sirius?" he tried, finding his voice catching with the word.

"May I ask who's calling please?" asked an unfamiliar voice from beyond the curtain, surprising him.

"Er… Harry?" he responded uncertainly.

"Hang on, I'll get him."  The curtain waved, blown about by an unseen wind and in a moment, a voice was raised above the murmur of the others, excited and a little apprehensive as it approached.

"Harry?  Harry!"  Harry felt tears coursing down his face at the sound of his godfather's voice and would have touched the veil in an instant.  Sirius was so close, just on the other side, but his voice sounded odd, as if it were traveling through a thick fog, not that it mattered.  He reached out…

"No!  Harry, no!"  He stopped, hurt, and the murmur stopped too, as if all the attention of the gathering beyond was focused on him.  It was a little unnerving, but with the ceasing of the murmur, his brain began to clear and he snatced his hand back.  Suddenly he understood why this arch was housed in a locked and guarded room under the Ministry of Magic.  It pulled at him, drawing him to it until all that remained was the thin veil and a profound sense of loneliness.  In the silence, all his instincts screamed at him to leave, to run, but he had to ask again,

"Sirius?"

"I'm here, Harry."

_"Where_ are you, Sirius?  Can I come?  Can _you_ come?"  There was a sigh, and Sirius replied softly,

"Forgive me, Harry.  No."  

_No._  The word dropped like a stone into his stomach, and he turned his face away.  Beyond the veil, something stirred.  "Harry, do you remember the mirror I gave you?"  Of course he remembered the mirror; it still lay in shards on the bottom of his school trunk where he'd thrown it in anger and grief after losing his godfather.  But Sirius had asked him a question, and he felt his face heat up with his answer.

"I broke it, Sirius, but it's in my trunk."  Faintly he heard someone snort and narrowed his eyes at the curtain, suspicious.

"It can be repaired.  Harry, that mirror will still work, I think.  James broke his once, and when I tried contacting him in mine it showed the same as when I tried to talk to you.  Harry," his voice was urgent and strained, "You need to leave; the veil is dangerous."

_Oh, that's rich, _Harry thought, indignant, but the murmur had started again, gradually, and he knew if he stayed much longer he would be drawn in.

Turning, he fled the Department of Mysteries, wrapping his invisibility cloak around him.  He didn't think he would have been able to leave at all, had he not the hope of speaking with his godfather again very soon.


End file.
